The X Child
by Ryan Phelan
Summary: Kidfic! During his parents' boring dinner party, Don entertains himself with his favorite pastime...messing with Charlie's head.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Numb3rs. If I did, the show would never have been cancelled. I would have bribed, blackmailed, or slept with whomever it took to keep the show on the air! Alas, I do not own Numb3rs, and exactly 14 months ago today, the show's final episode aired. To mark this sad occasion I've written my very first Numb3rs fanfic; as long as we keep writing about them, Charlie, Don, and everyone else will live on. Hope you like! **

**The X Child**

Eternity. It was a word easy to define, but difficult to comprehend.

The idea of something lasting forever and ever, with no beginning and no end, was something people often had trouble wrapping their minds around. Proof enough could be seen in a world littered with fast food restaurants, plastic utensils, and 24-hour drive-through wedding chapels; as far as humans were concerned, time occurred in measured increments, each one lasting only as long as their interest in it.

But as with every rule there are exceptions, and at this moment it can be found in a quiet suburb of Los Angeles, where an eleven-year-old boy named Don Eppes is getting a firsthand lesson in the meaning of eternity…

"3345 times 4736 plus 4564."

"15,846,484."

"Correct!"

Young Don was learning that eternity was having his father's new boss and his wife over for dinner. Eternity was pushing disgusting grown-up food around his plate while listening to boring grown-up talk. Eternity was being forced to sit in the living room and watch his parents and their guests fawn over his little brother while ignoring him completely.

"7642 times 2455 plus 9205."

"18,770,315."

"Correct!"

Mr. and Mrs. Conner (or was it Crisp? Chalmers? Don always had trouble remembering grown-up's names) were sitting side-by-side on the couch, while his parents sat in the two overstuffed armchairs facing either side of the couch. Together they formed a semi-circle around Charlie, who as usual stood at the center of attention, soaking up the awe and admiration like an annoying little sponge.

"Okay, Charlie, here's a tough one," Mrs. What's-Her-Name said. "What is…4351 plus 5431 times1345 divided by 730?" As she spoke, her husband typed the numbers into a handheld calculator.

All of the adults watched Charlie with eager anticipation, paying no mind to the poor stupid boy in the corner squirming uncomfortably in his chair; as if it wasn't bad enough that Don was being forced to suffer through yet another episode of the Charlie is Awesome Show, he had to suffer through it while wearing his "nice" clothes, which included an itchy sweater vest and a tie that pinched his neck like a noose. He tugged at his collar and silently swore that when he was grown-up he would never wear these torture devices again. No, when he was a grown-up, things would be different. He would live in big mansion where no one would force him to wear nice clothes or eat his broccoli or go to bed at 9 o'clock. He would be a world famous baseball player by day, and at night he would hunt down the scum of Los Angeles and bring them to justice as…

"I'm sorry Charlie, but that's wrong."

Don's sulking came to a screeching halt when the part of his brain that was half-listening to the adults' conversation registered the words _Charlie _and _wrong _in the same sentence. He immediately looked to his parents, and from the expression on their faces he immediately knew that he hadn't imagined it. Don's eyes then darted over to Charlie, who suddenly seemed as uncomfortable in his nice clothes as Don was; he felt a stab of pity as he watched his brother squirm, but a warm feeling of satisfaction quickly swallowed it up. Charlie, oh-so-perfect-in-every-way Charlie, _was wrong._

Mrs. What's-Her-Name broke the awkward silence. "That's okay Charlie, I told you it was a tough one."

Mom quickly jumped in. "Yes, sweetie, it was pretty difficult. No one is right all of the time."

Don felt a twinge of resentment at his mother's words. She was always hovering over Charlie, her perfect son, but this time things were different; Don could sense the disappointment in her voice, and his happiness grew. _HA! _Don thought with glee. _Now you know what it's like to feel like an idiot! Sucks to be you! _

Charlie was silent, looking down at his feet, and Don wondered if he was going to start crying. _Go ahead and cry you little baby! Must be tough, knowing you're not perfect after all! HA! Again!_

Suddenly Charlie raised his head and blurted out, "But Mom, I _am_ right!" This loud revelation startled everyone, including Charlie, who immediately lowered his voice. "I…I just ran the numbers in my head again, and I was right. The answer is 18,023. "

After yet another awkward silence Dad spoke up. "Well…it couldn't hurt to check it again, right?" He seemed almost embarrassed to ask, like Don was every time he asked his mother to buy those fluffy pink snacks (oh why did they have to be so tasty?).

"I suppose not," Mr. What's-His-Name said. He turned to his wife. "What was the equation again, Barbara?"

"Oh, um…I don't really remember. I thought you were keeping track on the calculator," she replied in a slightly accusatory tone.

"4351 plus 5431 times1345 divided by 730," Charlie said. Mr. What's-His-Name quickly typed them in and then looked at Charlie expectantly, who then said, "the answer is 18,023."

The man immediately broke into a smile. "That's correct, Charlie! I must have typed in the numbers wrong the last time. I guess we should never question a math genius, right Alan?"

"No, I guess not, " Dad laughed in relief. "Even after all this time Charlie still continues to surprise us!"

"That's why we work hard to give him every opportunity we can," Mom added. "A mind like his could discover the cure for cancer!"

"I can certainly believe that," Mrs. What's-Her-Name nodded.

Seeing that the conversation was turning back into a Charlie love-fest, Don went back to stewing in his own juices. He hated his brother. He hated his parents. He hated his life. He couldn't wait until he was a famous baseball player/crime fighter. He'd have a really cool car _(Don)_ that could go 1,000 miles an hour _(Don) _and turn into a boat and an airplane _(Don)_ and his sidekick would be a talking dog who…

"DON!"

Dad's shout finally brought Don crashing back to reality; one look at his father's face told him that he had messed up yet again. "Don, what are you doing?" Dad said in an exasperated voice. "I tried to get your attention three times, but you just sat there with a strange look on your face."

"Um…I…" Don stammered. He desperately looked around for some sort of help, but all he got was bewildered stares. "I…was just thinking about…stuff."

"Just go get dessert, please," Dad replied in a clipped tone, and this time he didn't have to repeat himself; Don retreated to the safety of the kitchen with a mad dash worthy of an Olympian, leaving a light cloud of dust in his wake.

############

The kitchen had always been a warm, inviting place for Don, mostly due to all of good times he'd enjoyed in there, such as freshly baked chocolate-chip cookies and a cold glass of milk after a little league game, or a homemade pizza he'd helped his mother make. Once safely inside his sanctuary, he leaned against the counter and tried to calm his pounding heart, focusing on the dessert in front of him instead of his humiliation.

Tonight's dessert was an ice cream cake shaped like a log, with a thick layer of chocolate ice cream on the outside and, according to the picture on the box, a rich vanilla core dotted with chocolate chips. Horizontal grooves carved through the chocolate gave it the appearance of bark, and a few marzipan leaves and berries completed the image. It was the kind of fancy dessert Mom only bought for special occasions; she'd taken it out of the freezer 10 minutes ago, right before she served the guests fresh coffee to sip while they waited for it to thaw.

As Don stared at the cake, he saw that it was ready to be cut. It wasn't too hard or too soft, but just right for a knife to easily slice through it and deliver a perfect piece to everyone. He'd seen his mother do it time and time again; whenever people came over for dinner, whether it was for Thanksgiving or to fawn over Charlie, Mom always made a great meal and the guests always left happy.

Now that he thought about it, Don realized that his mother made dinner every night, even when it was just for the family. She also made breakfast and packed lunches for school, always made sure they had clean clothes (Don didn't care if his clothes were clean or not, but his parents did for some reason), and lots of other stuff. On top of all that, she was also a lawyer, and Don knew that lawyers helped people who were in trouble, and also put bad guys in jail.

Don didn't exactly know what his father did, but he knew it had something to do with building things. Once, before Charlie was born, Dad had taken him to a construction site where they were using cranes and backhoes and drills to build a brand new 30-story office building; although he didn't quite understand what it all had to do with his father's job, seeing those cool machines was enough to convince him that Dad's job must be awesome.

And as for Charlie? Charlie was…well, Charlie. Don's eyes drifted to the refrigerator; it was covered with Charlie's perfect exam papers, while the only thing of Don's was a one-page comic he'd drawn called Wolverine vs. Batman. An artist, he was not.

So where did that leave him? He was good at baseball, but so were most of the kids on his team. He was also pretty good at school, getting mostly B's and a few A's, but he knew he would never be anywhere near as smart as Charlie. So what was the point? Why even try when…

"Don?"

Startled, Don whirled around to find Charlie staring up at him; he had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't even heard his brother enter the kitchen. "What do you want?" He snapped with such intensity that Charlie flinched.

"Well…I…want some soda," Charlie said. "Mom said it was okay and that you would give me some."

Don sighed and opened the cupboard. "Do you want Grimace or Mayor McCheese?" He asked.

"Grimace!" Charlie replied without hesitation. Don grabbed the Grimace glass and placed it on the table. He then went to the refrigerator, took out the soda, unscrewed the top and poured the contents into the glass; all the while Charlie watched with eager anticipation, and the moment Don stopped pouring he grabbed the glass with both hands and drank deeply. When he was done, he set the glass down and let out a loud _**braaaaaackkk! **_Ordinarily Don would have found this hilarious, but today it just made him mad.

Charlie then turned his attention to the ice cream cake. "I can't believe we get to have soda _and _ice cream!'' He said gleefully. "I wish Mr. and Mrs. Castle would come over every night."

"Who?" Don said as he put away the soda.

"Mr. and Mrs. Castle. Mom and Dad's friends in the living room," Charlie replied before taking another gulp.

"They're not Mom and Dad's friends." Don snapped, recalling his parents' conversation from yesterday. "Dad only invited them over here to kiss Mr. Castle's butt."

"Kiss his butt?" Charlie blinked.

"Yeah. Dad wants Mr. Castle to like him, so he's kissing his butt."

"But Dad's not kissing his butt," Charlie replied, his eyebrows knit together in confusion. "I didn't see him do it."

Don rolled his eyes. He was about to set Charlie straight, but seeing his little brother standing there, confused and looking to him for answers, Don was suddenly struck by inspiration. "Dad's not going to kiss his butt until they make the deal."

"What deal?" Charlie asked.

"The deal to give you to Mr. and Mrs. Castle," Don casually replied.

"What?" Charlie gulped. "Give me to them?"

"Yes, give you to them," Don repeated. "Mom and Dad never told you this, but it's time you knew the truth." He sighed deeply, pausing for dramatic effect before speaking again. "Charlie…you're a mutant."

"I'm a…mutant?" Charlie blinked.

"Yeah, like the X-Men. You know the X-Men right?" Don asked, knowing perfectly well that Charlie knew all about the X-Men; on more than one occasion he'd caught Charlie reading his comic books, even though he'd told the little pest countless times to stop going through his stuff. "The comics are based on a true story. Professor X is based on Mr. Castle. He searches the world for mutants, and when he finds one, he goes to their house to talk to their parents about sending their kid to his special school."

"So…Mr. and Mrs. Castle…they're mutants?"

"Yes, they are," Don nodded. "But they're in disguise. Mr. Castle wears a cheap rug and Mrs. Castle's obviously had a face lift."

"Really?" Charlie breathed, still trying to process all of this new information. "But…but how do you know all of this?"

"Mom and Dad told me," Don replied. Well, he'd overheard them talking about it yesterday, and that was close enough.

Suddenly Charlie's face changed from one of confusion to defiance. "You're lying! The X-Men aren't real. I don't believe you!" He snapped, putting on his best "pouty face," as Mom called it.

Don realized he'd have to take it up a notch. "Charlie, have you ever wondered why you're so different from the other kids?" Charlie's face softened, and when he didn't answer Don continued. "Ever wonder why you understand all that really hard stuff that even kids my age can't? Why you need all of those special classes and special teachers?" He paused, allowing his words to sink in before delivering the final blow. "It's because you're a mutant, just like Wolverine and Professor X and Cyclops. Your mutant power is your super brain."

By the time Don finished speaking, Charlie's pouty face was gone, replaced by his "thinky" face. Don waited for a response, but after nearly a minute of silence he realized that if he didn't say something the two of them could be standing there a long time. "Charlie?" He asked. No answer. "Charlie, are you okay?"

"The game with the calculator!" Charlie suddenly exclaimed. "That was a test, wasn't it? To see if I'm a real mutant?"

"Uh, yeah," Don smirked. "And you passed."

"And now all Dad has to do is kiss Mr. Castle's butt and I can go to his school?" Charlie asked, his eyes shining with excitement. "And I'll meet other kids like me and we'll have all kinds of cool adventures and stuff?"

"Yeah, you will," Don nodded.

"Oh, wow! I really hope Dad kisses Mr. Castle's butt! It's going to be so awesome, Donny! And don't worry, I'll tell you everything that happens every day when I get home!"

"What do you mean? You don't think you'll still be living here, do you?" Don asked innocently. "Don't you remember the comics? The mutant kids live at the school."

Charlie froze momentarily, but quickly recovered. "Oh, right…okay, I'll tell you about it when I come home on the weekends."

"Weekends? Charlie, you can't come home on weekends. Or holidays. Once you're in Mr. Castle's school, you can't leave," Don said. Seeing Charlie's stricken face, he added, "It's for your own good."

"For my own good…" Charlie repeated, his enthusiasm quickly draining away. "Why?"

"A lot of bad people want to kill mutants. The only place they're safe is at the school."

"Oh…but…but you and Mom and Dad can still visit me, right?" he asked softly.

Don shook his head, "Sorry, Charlie, we can't. Your school is in a top-secret location. No one knows where it is. It's safer that way."

"So…I'll never see you again?" Charlie's voice was barely a whisper now, his chin trembled and tears were starting to form in the corners of his eyes.

Don realized things had gone too far and started to backpedal. "No, no, no, Charlie, that's not what I…" but it was too late. Charlie blew like a volcano, emitting an earsplitting wail before bolting into the living room. Don ran after him, but he wasn't fast enough to stop his brother from latching onto Dad and sobbing hysterically into his lap.

""

Throughout Charlie's babbling Dad tried to get a word in edgewise while everyone else in the room watched dumbfounded. After a minute or so Charlie began to run out of steam, and Dad managed to pry his son's death grip from his shirt and get his attention. "Charlie? Charlie, look at me. Charlie?" Charlie raised his tear-streaked face and looked at his father. "Charlie, what's wrong? Why are you so upset?"

"I don't want…to…go…" Charlie said between hiccups. "Please don't…send me…away please!"

"Charlie, what are you…"

"I'm sorry!" Charlie cried. "I won't be smart anymore I promise! Please don't kiss Mr. Castle's butt! PLEASE!"

An awkward silence fell over the room.

"What? W-why that's ridiculous, son!" Dad laughed nervously. Where did you hear such nonsense?"

"From Don," Charlie quickly answered. A bolt of fear shot through Don; all of his instincts shouted at him to run, but his feet were rooted to the spot. "Don told me that I was a mutant and that Mr. and Mrs. Castle were mutants and you were gong to kiss Mr. Castle's butt and then he'd take me away to a special school and I would never see you again!"

"Donald Alan Eppes, is this true?" Mom asked in her most no-nonsense tone. Don didn't answer; he was too busy staring at the pattern on the carpet, which he suddenly found fascinating.

Meanwhile Dad attempted some damage control. "Mr. Castle, I apologize," he stammered. "The boys are usually so well behaved, especially around company. I don't know what's gotten into them."

"It's okay, Alan, I understand," Mr. Castle replied, dismissing his apology with a wave of his hand. "Boys will be boys, right dear?"

"Absolutely," Mrs. Castle nodded. "Our Jeffery was quite the little hellraiser when he was Don's age. Gave us a lot of grief and grey hairs."

Don raised his head and saw that Mr. and Mrs. Castle were smiling, and his parents looked more relaxed. A sliver of hope ran through him; maybe, just maybe, he was off the hook.

"So…I'm not a mutant?" Charlie asked quietly, worn out from all of the crying. "Donnie made all of that stuff up?"

"That's right, Charlie," Dad said. "Your brother was just teasing you."

"Yes, except for the part about the butt-kissing," Mr. Castle added. "I've done it myself once or twice. It's just something grown-ups have to do sometimes." He winked at Dad, who responded with a relieved grin. Don's hope began to grow.

Charlie was still a little skeptical. "You really aren't going to take me away?" He asked Mr. Castle.

"No, Charlie, I'm not," Mr. Castle chuckled in amusement.

"And you and Mrs. Castle aren't really mutants?" Charlie asked.

"I assure you that we are not."

"And you don't wear a cheap rug and Mrs. Castle hasn't obviously had a face lift?"

The awkward silence was much longer this time.

###########

Sometime later, after the guests had said their uncomfortable goodbyes and an uneasy silence had settled over the house, Don lay on his bed thinking about what he'd done as Dad had ordered him to do. But what had he'd done that was so bad? He'd teased Charlie like he'd done a thousand times before, and Charlie had completely overreacted. It wasn't his fault that Charlie couldn't take a joke; he tried to explain this to his father, but to no avail.

"_Donald, there's jokes that are funny and jokes that are just mean-spirited. Now which one do you think yours was?" After a moment of sullen silence, Dad pressed on. "You know how difficult it can be sometimes for Charlie to be so…different. He needs his family to love and support him, not make life harder for him."_

Don snorted as he recalled their conversation. Life was hard for Charlie? His life had been nothing but easy from the day he was born! Everyone was always fawning over him, telling him how special he was! It was his life that sucked! Don had wanted to shout these things at Dad when they'd had their "talk," but in the face of his father's anger he could do nothing but stare at the floor. Now he wasn't allowed to leave his room until he apologized to Charlie; deciding he might as well get it over with, he rolled off his bed and walked out the door.

Charlie's room was at the end of the hall, across from his parents' bedroom. The door was ajar so Don just went in; Charlie was sitting at his desk, nose buried in a textbook as usual.

"Hi, Charlie," Don said. Getting no response, he kept talking. "Look, I'm sorry. Let's just forget it, okay?" Charlie still didn't answer, he just kept staring at the book in front of him. "I'm sorry, okay?" Don repeated. Again Charlie was silent, and Don was getting annoyed. "Come on, Charlie, I said I was sorry! Stop being such a baby!"

Charlie's head whipped up and he glared at his brother. "I'm not a baby! You're a jerk! I hate you!"

"I hate you too!" Don shot back.

"I wish I was a mutant!" Charlie cried, struggling to hold back his tears. "Then I could go to a really cool school and do really cool stuff while you're stuck in stupid school with all the other stupid kids!"

"I wish you were a mutant too! Then I'd never have to see you again!" Don snapped.

Suddenly Dad burst through the door, freezing both boys in their tracks. "What is going on here?" He snapped, his gaze automatically settling on Don.

"I apologized to Charlie and he called me a jerk!" Don said.

"He called me a baby!" Charlie retorted.

"You are a baby!" Don snapped.

"ENOUGH!" Dad shouted, and the boys froze again. "Don, apologize to your brother." When Don hesitated, he added, "NOW!"

"I'm sorry, Charlie," Don muttered, looking at the floor.

"Charlie, apologize to your brother," Dad said with a look whose meaning was all too clear.

"I'm sorry, Donnie," Charlie muttered, also looking at the floor.

"Alright then," Dad said through gritted teeth. "Bed. Now."

##############

Alan Eppes stood in front of the bathroom mirror, studying the exhausted-looking man staring back at him; had he looked in the mirror a couple of hours ago, that man would have looked a lot different. The evening had started off so well…it was amazing how things could go so wrong so suddenly, with no warning whatsoever.

He dreaded going to work tomorrow. Best-case scenario, things would be uncomfortable between him and the boss. Worst-case scenario, he would lose the City Hall project, which was the whole damn reason for the dinner in the first place.

Alan's thoughts drifted to his sons, and he suddenly felt even more exhausted and more than a little annoyed. What the hell was wrong with those kids? Lately it seemed that they couldn't go one lousy day without ending up at each other's throats. Even tonight, after all of the trouble they caused, they still managed to squeeze in a shouting match; by the time he stormed into Charlie's bedroom he no longer cared who was right and who was wrong, all he wanted was for both of them to shut up and go to sleep.

"Alan? Are you all right? You've been in there a long time," Margaret called out. "Come to bed."

Alan shook off his stupor and walked into the bedroom. Margaret was sitting up in bed, her hands folded in front of her, looking at him expectantly. Alan knew that look all to well; it wasn't so much the come-to-bed look as it was the we-need-to-talk look, which meant he wasn't going to sleep (or have sex) anytime soon.

"So, how did things go with the boys?"

"The usual," Alan sighed as he climbed into bed. "The two of them were fighting like cats and dogs and I had to break it up. I forced them to apologize to each other, and then ordered them to bed."

"It's just growing pains," Margaret said reassuringly. "I'm sure one day they'll get past all of these silly fights and become the best of friends."

"Yeah, right, not in my lifetime," Alan snorted. When Margaret gave him a look, he quickly added, "It's been a long night. Let's just get some sleep. I'm sure things will look better in the morning."

Margaret merely nodded and turned off the light, and husband and wife settled into their usual sleeping positions. Alan silently thanked the gods that he'd avoided the same tired conversation about Charlie's genius and all of the pressure that came with it, their shared guilt over Don not getting enough attention, how things had to change but of course they never did, which is why they kept having the same tired conversation.

He stared into the darkness. There were plenty of questions, but few answers. In fact, the only question he had a surefire answer for was "should parents ever talk in front of the kids?"

And as for the rest? Only time would tell.

Only time would tell.

THE END


End file.
